Sunday February 5th

I hardly left the apartment yesterday. I went out to lunch and to the grocery. I didn’t leave my street, though. I cleaned – very little- but a little. I don’t know what I’m going to do today. I don’t have enough dirty clothes to warrant a trip to the laundromat. I am going to wait until next weekend. I ordered 6 more pairs of underwear. I do need more if laundry is going to be a biweekly event here, in my new life.

I am very unsure about my job. It’s a realization that I’m reaching; I love working in a black neighborhood, with mostly black kids. I have a heart for their particular struggles. However, it is becoming evident to me that I am not necessarily welcomed by the black adults to become a part of this world. It is dawning on me that even though these are the kids I love and I am truly in awe of the deep culture of Harlem, I am not wanted by some. I may want to be a part of it, but the adults won’t let me be. The kids are accepting and loving and pass on judgement on me. I did not choose my ethnicity any more than they did. At this point and time, if I get a DOE opportunity in a workable location, I am taking it.

Later, that same day…

I honestly didn’t remember that I had already written today. That can’t be good. I took a quick trip down to Lowes to return the hinges I bought last weekend and I bought something to hang up the iron and ironing board. Now I still have to go down to KMart on 34th street and get a new ironing board since mine is ridiculously huge and heavy and cumbersome. I have to make a decision what to do about the table that won’t fit in my apartment. It’s causing me more stress than it should. I cannot decide what to do. I know it does not fit in this apartment at all. Period. BUT, I am not so committed to living here that I am willing to break up the matching set of tables. WTH? I am considering keeping it until Noah comes in June and sending it home with him to my storage unit. That storage unit is pretty full. I have to come to some decision as to what to do with all that shit at some point.

Just Keep Swimming

I am a 47 year old adult child of an alcoholic. My childhood could have been a Lifetime movie. I am dealing with PTSD, anxiety, and severe depression as a result. I am working on gaining an understanding as to what this means and learning how to be okay with myself. Some days, just killing myself and being done with it seems like the most sensible option. On those days, I keep telling myself, "just keep breathing in and out, that's enough for today."